


Stolen Kisses

by Skalidra



Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Jason Todd is Red Hood, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Tim Drake is Catlad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-17
Updated: 2017-02-17
Packaged: 2018-09-25 01:24:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,334
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9796181
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Skalidra/pseuds/Skalidra
Summary: Jason isn't entirely sure what his relationship is to Tim Drake, given that he's a sometimes crime-lord vigilante and Tim is an accomplished thief, but he is sure that he enjoys every second of it. And if that means that he 'accidentally' lets Tim get away with a few museum pieces, well, that's a price he thinks is well worth paying.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Welcome to the second (of my three) Valentine's JayTim week story! This day's prompts were 'Stolen Kisses/Secret Relationship' (and I went with the former). You can consider this in line with that Catlad!Tim drabble that I wrote a while ago, if you want to. I do. XD Enjoy!

Jason sees the alarm go out over the police channels and a laugh bursts from his throat before he can stifle it. He's only two blocks away from the museum that it's emanating from, and he doesn't need to see anywhere past the name of the museum to know that the alarm must be on purpose. He checked the records of that museum not even a full day ago; one of the rotating exhibits caught his attention as something that would interest his unfairly talented… boyfriend? Lover?

Whatever the hell _Tim Drake_ is to him, the attraction to the exhibits is clear enough. One is full of suspiciously-acquired, stolen artifacts from countries that really deserve them back. The other has a small collection of jewelry that's really a display of gems. Everyone's been watching it closely, because it's a _huge_ target even with it only being a half dozen pieces, and the combination of that and the stolen stuff is exactly Tim's style.

Stealing things for actual good causes, to the point that you don't _really_ want to stop him, sounds like a classic night. Oh, and throw in a couple pieces of beautiful jewelry too, for fun.

Well, how can Jason not answer a call that obvious?

The two blocks are easy enough to traverse, and he can already hear sirens in the distance so he knows there's no way that Tim is still in the museum itself. Tripped the alarm on the way out, probably. On purpose, of course, because frankly if Tim didn't want to be caught, he wouldn't be. He has dodging the security for the museums down to an art at this point.

Jason swings onto a building opposite the museum, taking a look down at it and tilting his head, surveying the surrounding buildings as he debates exactly where Tim might be waiting for him. Close enough to see the museum, and appreciate whatever police response arrives, but not blatant enough to actually be caught at it, and not anywhere where security cameras will pick him up. Unless they've already been disabled, which is fairly likely. After all, Tim is quite a bit more tech-oriented than his sort-of mentor.

(Selina swears that she didn't actually teach Tim anything until he came to her at seventeen, but he was a thief long before that. A _good_ one; no convictions on record, only a couple arrests and none of them actually for thievery.)

Then there are claws sliding around his throat, expertly tracing the inch of skin between his helmet and the start of his armor, and he takes in a sharp breath and tenses up. Which fades away the next moment when a smaller, lithe body presses against his back, and there's a teasing, "Are you going to stand there all night, baby?”

The violent reaction leaks out of him, and he stays still as Tim’s claw-tipped glove lightly squeezes his throat. Just hard enough to sting. “Wasn’t planning on it,” he answers, his voice no more than a breath, though the helmet projects it just fine.

Clever fingers scrape the back of his neck as well, and then the catch on the back is flipped, and his helmet parts with the _hiss_ of the seal breaking. He catches it automatically as it falls, so it doesn’t go tumbling off the edge of the roof he’s standing on, as Tim's other hand slides up the back of his skull, claws just barely scraping against his scalp. He lets his eyes flicker closed for a moment, and tilts his head back into that familiar scrape of claws, ignoring the edge of danger to it.

Tim would never hurt him. Not badly, at least. (Not unless he provoked it; tried to actually capture him.)

"Come here," Tim orders, tugging him back by the grips on his throat and hair, and he goes without a fight. He's pulled back and down, and he lets Tim get him down on his knees, his helmet dropped off to the side before Tim circles him, standing in front of him and smiling down, hands now cupping either side of his face.

The pouch at Tim's left hip looks to be at least partially full, which tells him that whatever he actually wanted from the museum, he got, but the more obvious sign of his successful heist is the necklace draped around his throat, impressively large blue gems matching his eyes. It's the centerpiece of the jewelry portion of that exhibit, and he knew the _second_ he saw it that Tim would want it. Even if only for a few hours, just to show off and _play_.

"Like it?" Tim asks, catching the direction of his gaze. "Don't worry, I'll give it back. _Promise_."

"I wouldn't go after you if you didn't," he admits, reaching up with his right hand to grip Tim's thigh, to tug him half a step closer. "It does look good on you."

The way Tim sinks down to a crouch, skintight black costume showing off every bunch or slide of muscle beneath it, tightens his throat. It always does. Tim's smile is wicked, claws digging just hard enough into the top curve of his jaw to pull him forward and into a kiss, lips brushing his with soft intent that doesn't remotely match the actual situation. A taste of something sweeter, before Tim pulls back and gives a soft laugh.

"No, you wouldn't, would you? But the others would question your loyalties again, wonder if you're giving me too much leeway. Wonder if you're _sweet_ on me, my Redbird."

He tilts his head into one of Tim's hands, turning to press his lips against the gloved wrist, reaching up to very gently curl his fingers around Tim's lower arm. "Bats has got no room to talk," he points out, "and I could give a shit what they think of me. You know I don't play by their rules, kitten."

"You don't always play by mine either," Tim murmurs, but lets Jason turn his arm so he can press a small line of kisses up to his elbow.

Jason gives a small snort, looking up to meet Tim's gaze, the goggles pushed up for the moment to bare his face. "Do you _want_ me to play nice?"

Tim grazes the claws of his free hand over Jason's cheek before sliding them back into his hair, pulling his head up a little more. "Only _very_ rarely." His head tilts, (probably) listening to the now significantly louder sirens, and then he gives a sharp smile and tugs his arm away. "Try and keep up, baby."

His breath catches as the claws in his hair rake across scalp as Tim pushes up and darts off. He can feel the faint sting of split skin, but he ignores it and shoves to his feet, grabbing his helmet with one hand and giving chase. Tim is faster than he is, moves like _liquid_ as he vaults gaps and races over the rooftops, but he's got longer legs. It ends up about even; he keeps Tim in sight, closes bits of the gap when there are more open stretches, but can't quite catch up to him. Still, the chase takes his breath, makes his heart pound, and he can hear Tim's obvious enjoyment in the laughter that floats back to him.

He finally does manage a leaping tackle that brings them both down, rolling across the hard cement of the roof, but a sharp elbow to his ribs and a too-flexible twist of a spine has Tim slamming him onto his back instead of the other way around. His breath comes out in a sharp huff, and Tim grazes a kiss across the top of his helmet before taking off again, easily dodging the swipe of hands at his ankles.

He takes half a second to catch his breath, and then rolls up and follows.

Tim's led him halfway across town by the time he has another chance to catch up, and this time he knows it's on purpose because scaling the high-rise is a familiar challenge, and the floor that he watches Tim drop into ahead of him is equally familiar. This is the end of the chase, in a way.

He's breathing hard when he drops over the railing of the balcony, sliding past the glass door left open for him and inside the dark penthouse. The glass windows darken a moment later, cutting off most of the moonlight, and he turns to meet the flash of black movement in the corner of his eye, barely able to distinguish Tim from the shadows. Tim presses _hard_ up against him, claws scraping across his helmet and flipping the catch again, all but yanking it off his head.

A mouth crashes into his as he gasps, teeth digging into his lower lip and arms circling around his chest, claws hooking into the back of his jacket like they have so many times before. He repays the favor, circling Tim's leaner waist with his own arms, keeping him held close as he pushes into the kiss. Tim is breathing as hard as he is, tense and _alive_ with energy and excitement. The kiss is wet, messy with both of them breathing around and into it, and _perfect_.

" _Tim_ ," he groans, squeezing his arms a little tighter, crushing Tim a bit harder against his chest.

Tim gives a delighted half-moan. The claws in his jacket let go, sliding around beneath it instead, carving faint scratches into his armor until they find the zipper at the hollow of his throat, dragging it down. Tim breaks the kiss, but only to dig teeth into his newly bare neck hard enough to make him hiss through his teeth, arching his head back to press into the sting. His armor is parted, shoved back towards his shoulders, and he automatically lets go so he can quickly drag the armor and jacket off his arms, dropping them both to the ground. Then, when Tim's teeth let go of his throat, he pulls the tank-top he had on beneath up over his head as well.

The way Tim's claws trace across his chest, teasing the lines of his muscles, makes him grit his teeth to stifle the moan that comes up through his throat. Even in the darkness, he can see the flash of white that is Tim's smile, and then he's shoved backwards a step. His hips hit the back of Tim's couch, and Tim is right there a moment later, claws scraping down his waist just hard enough to sting before quickly undoing his belt.

"Hands on the couch," Tim orders, and he obeys as his pants are dragged down off his hips, catching where his guns are still strapped to his thighs but that's far enough for Tim's apparent purpose. "Stay," is breathed into a kiss to his throat, and then Tim sinks down to his knees and those lips are kissing something entirely different.

His head tosses back, still gloved hands clenching on the couch as he groans, fighting not to buck into the touch. Tim's hands pressing to his upper thighs, claws pricking, almost hurts his restraint more than it helps. He has to bite at his own lip, clench his hands so hard it hurts, to not move as Tim's mouth slides over him, tongue just as _wicked_ at this as it is at speech. He feels breathless, unable to recover from the exertion of the chase, unable to do more than give Tim exactly the reaction he wants.

Obedience, in his relative stillness, with a healthy dose of breathless, gasping sounds that he can't even begin to help. Tim knows all the tricks to work him high, has the experience to bring him up hard and fast and then draw back just enough to make that last bit _slow_. Make it _drag_ , leaving him high and wound tight and hovering on the edge of something that he was so certain a second ago that he was about to go crashing into. It's enough to make him grit his teeth and twist his head to try and vent a little bit of the trembling ecstasy in his veins, his back arching a little bit since his thighs are held still.

"Fuck!" he almost shouts. "Tim, _Jesus_. God, please. _Please_."

The claws on his thighs dig in hard enough that he thinks they might draw just a hint of blood, and he knows why a second later when Tim pulls off of him, breath hot against him but mouth just a bit too far away. Not _touching_.

"Say my name again," Tim demands, pressing small, teasing kisses down the length of him.

" _Tim_ ," he begs, forcing his head down to look, to let his dark-adjusted eyes pick out the paler skin of Tim's face against the darker shape of his cock. " _God_ , Tim. Just a little more, _please_. Tim. _Tim_."

His begging gets him mercy, and he cries out and throws his head back at the sudden renewal of the blow job, and the sudden _passion_ in it. He shudders, moaning or giving soft cries of, " _Tim_ ," at every breath that he can manage. It doesn't take long at all for him to be gasping out a warning.

Tim hums around him, flattens hands against his thighs to keep the claws out of his skin, and that's as much as it takes. The shout wrenches up from his chest, and he arches as his hands clutch at the couch, muscle drawing tight with strain as he fights not to buck, not to give in to base instinct. He thinks he manages, though the pleasure crashing through him makes it hard to know for sure. He comes back slowly, panting, as Tim slides to standing, the fingertips tracing up his sides now absent of the clawed gloves, warm and bare against his skin.

"Good boy," Tim praises, hands coming up to cup his face, to pull him into a short kiss. "My beautiful Redbird; so good at pleasing me."

He groans, dragging his eyes open to look down at Tim, slowly gaining back his ability to move. "What do you want?" he asks, his voice coming out rough and deep. "Tell me what you want, babe."

Tim smiles, kissing him for another soft moment and then whispering, "Down on your knees."

There's no other addition, so he lets go of the couch and sinks down, dropping to his knees in front of Tim. It traps him between Tim and the couch, and he watches as Tim braces his hands on the back of it, leaving him to lift his own hands and undo the bottom half of Tim's suit, tugging it down far enough that he can lean slightly forward and get his mouth where it needs to be. Tim hisses, and a second later he feels a hand slide through his hair, cupping the back of his skull. Not doing anything else, yet, but he knows that Tim likes control and that hand will be guiding him before the end of this.

He slides his hand around Tim's thighs as he starts to work, getting his hands on the curves of his ass. He mourns, for a second, that he's still wearing gloves and he can't really _feel_ it, but the touch and the weight of it in his hands, even gloved, is enough that he doesn't mind it for longer than that second. He uses it to pull Tim a little closer as he pulls out his own tricks, focusing on what he knows Tim _loves_.

A little bit too rough of a grip, deep and fast until it's brushing the back of his throat, which only practice lets him ignore. Tim's hand quickly tightens in his hair, and he listens to how Tim is gasping, _sighing_ , past the wet, slick noises of his work. There's no possible way he's getting hard again this fast, but Tim's noises, and the dull burn of his scalp as Tim's hand tugs at his hair, still light a dull, throbbing sort of pleasure beneath his skin. Just enough to enjoy without it being overwhelming with his current sensitivity.

He pulls off for a moment to catch his breath, and Tim shudders and pulls a little harder at his hair. " _Jason,_ baby."

"I got you," he reassures, smiling up just long enough to catch the returning flash of a smile before he leans back in.

This time Tim's hand, as predicted, is guiding the movement of his head. Pressing hard to the back of his skull to push him down and then pulling at the strands between his fingers to pull him back again. He closes his eyes and gives Tim control, moving his tongue as he can, gripping Tim's ass to hold him close and so he can feel it flexing as Tim starts to rock into his mouth. He encourages it with a squeeze, and Tim gives a little breathless laugh but takes the hint. The hand at the back of his head flattens out, holding him still, and Tim's hips take up the job of moving instead.

He relaxes into it with the ease of practice, letting Tim have him as he wants. Whatever he wants.

When Tim's hand curls at the back of his skull again, and there's a gasped, " _Jason_ ," he understands the brief version of a warning. He gives as much of a groan as he can, pulled from the depths of his chest, and Tim cries out. The hips driving into his mouth stutter, and it only takes a few more ragged, uneven thrusts for Tim to moan and pull him close, pulsing over his tongue and down his throat. He swallows, easing into the repetitive, familiar motion.

When Tim slowly eases him off he goes, but not without a parting _flick_ of his tongue against the head that makes Tim jerk and give a shocked gasp. His mouth curves in a sharp grin, and Tim lets go of his hair just to swat at the side of his head. No real force, and he snickers as he pushes back up to his feet, curling an arm around Tim's waist and dragging him close. Tim allows the kiss, and then the second one, and then finally breaks away and nuzzles into the side of his neck instead, sighing into it.

He closes his eyes again and relaxes, holding Tim to him and just enjoying the closeness, even with the shadows still obscuring most of Tim's form.

Then, slowly, Tim pushes slightly away from him, hands very efficiently pulling the zipper of the upper half of his suit down and stripping it off, leaving those paler shoulders and the firm muscle of his chest bare. The necklace of blue gems remain around his neck, dipping down past the hollow of his throat and collarbones, the last gem resting down between his pectorals. Jason looks at it, admiring, and then looks at very different things as Tim first unbuckles his holsters and shoves his pants down to his ankles, catching around his boots. He leans down to free them as Tim steps back and pushes down his own pants, all but peeling the suit off of his legs.

When they're both naked — and he's stripped off his gloves so he can actually touch and _feel_ — Tim catches both his wrists and tugs him forward a step, away from the couch. "Come to bed, Jason," is the invitation. "Come give me a massage; maybe when you're done we can have some more fun, hm?"

He curls his hands around Tim's wrists in turn, pulling him slightly closer and then leaning down and pressing a slow, lingering kiss to that lowest-hanging gem, just barely brushing Tim's skin past it. "Promise to keep this on?" he teases, and then adds, more sincerely, "It really does suit you."

Tim's smile is breathtaking. "Promise."


End file.
